I Still Wonder All The Time
by LoveBlink182
Summary: Definition of character is not what we do, it's who we are. It defines you as a person. Nothing can ever change that, right?...Right?
1. Chapter 1

**_I Still Wonder All the Time:_**

"_Do you still believe in the stories told?"_

It's an amazing thing, pride. Most Californians love the fact that they come from the sunshine state, the promise land for anyone who's ever had a dream.

But I still wonder. I wonder all the time. I wonder what I would have turned out to be if I hadn't been raised here, in this land of sunshine and shitbags. Maybe it was the city smog. Maybe it was the water. The food. The commercial advertising. Maybe it was that I saw through all of that and pinned it for the slimy pollution it really was.

A question rings through my head constantly. It's always there. And I only said it outloud once, to Devi.

"Do you think that if you stopped doing something that defines you as a person, that maybe, you'd cease to be that person?"

It was honest. Well put. I'll always remember it.

But right now, at this moment, I'm sitting on my bed, thinking of anything I can until it passes.

Until anything passes.

Time doesn't count. It's a figure of speech. I lose track of the days, the weeks, the years. Maybe in another lifetime I'll come back as a well-adjusted individual. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll be even more fucked up.

Thinking of it now, though, I don't think that's possible. It makes me sad to say I might just have lost all faith in everything I once believed.

My name is Johnny. Johnny C.

I don't know where I come from; I don't know how I came to live in my house, or my own age or last name. I don't know anything about myself, except the fact that I wish I could scream. I want to scream. I don't know why, but I'm all screamed out.

I feel like a child right now. A scared, small child, who's lost its way. Like I never belonged anywhere to begin with, like everyone told me in the very beginning. I get small, random pains sometimes. Really intense, then they go away. Certain instances have led me to believe that those are actual parts of my psyche, and my spirit dying.

I used to swear to any god listening, to myself, to my soul, that I would never let myself down, give up, let a part of me die or any of that cliché stuff. It hurts me to know that that's exactly what I've done. My time here's up.

My time is up and there's no place for me to run and hide.

Again, I'm stuck waiting for something to happen, for the next phase of my life to run a cycle.

I can't hear the voices anymore, and it's quieter than ever. I hardly even hear my own voice from time to time. I can't remember anything and a part of me is shrieking things that tell me I really, really don't want to remember.

Now that the voices are gone – I get the feeling for good – I'm just waiting for the next cycle of whatever it is to start.

I don't kill anymore.

Oh, don't get me wrong. People still make my flesh melt with anger, but I just don't have it in me. Maybe I'm not in my twenties, like I've been thinking. Maybe I'm really in my thirties. Or early forties. It's as though I don't have the energy for anything anymore.

Maybe I'm just all slaughtered out. I got it out of my system.

Which is a good thing, definitely. Now I just scream at people and run away. No one gets hurt. Just frightened - this was probably the approach I should've taken long ago. And even though I'm stuck waiting for something to happen again...

I'm ok.

I'm ok with waiting. Waiting for the next step of this years-long mental breakdown. You have to hit rock bottom before you can start to get up again.

I've got to go now, though...

I think it's time.

It's time to take the next step.

But this time...

No one's here to reason me out of it. Not Nail Bunny. Not the Dough Boys, not that I'd want either of them to be here right now. Nobody.

Not even Devi.

I hope she's ok. I do care deeply for her.

Nobody's here.

I miss my home, but home is nowhere.

I want to vomit, just once. Real quick before I leave.

I'm going to go someplace where no one can ever see me again. And in this place, no one does. The place I'm aspiring to go is vastly different from California. Much colder. Much meaner. Much more...industrialized.

I may be looking for relief, but I'm a city-boy at heart. It's still the center of the universe, and it always will be.

Here I come, New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I forgot the actual exit number for the city from where I live. I think its 20 S but I'm not sure. Damn. If anyone lives around my area and remembers, let me know lol

And I usually never do this, but I felt the need this time...

To reviewer Johnny6600: It's nice you like Motion City Soundtrack as much as myself. But I know the lyrics by heart. You don't need to tell me things I obviously already know. It's a waste of my time, and a review. Give me advice. Thanks.

...Anyway, sorry this took so long. It's been a rough week. My cousin died Monday. Life's been pretty miserable. So this is short. Really short.

**_I Still Wonder All the Time:_**

"_It wouldn't be L.A. without Mexicans, black love, brown pride in the sets again." -Tupac_

I stopped for gas once or twice, but I finally see the sign. Exit 20S, New York City. I'm here. I called from Los Angeles about the apartment. Apparently there are no such things as houses in NYC. Except for ones in really bad neighborhoods. I don't need any of that. So I just decided to rent an apartment.

This should be fun. As always.

I've decided to just move my boxes in, as thin as they are in number, and walk about the city for the rest of the afternoon. I want to get to know the mapping. The streets. The mood. It's not like the city I left, that city of Los Angeles that I knew so well. I have to get the grid down. Know the buildings, the 24/7's. I have to know everything.

I miss Devi.

I miss Squee.

But it's for the best.

Right?

This is for the best. This is the best thing I've ever done for myself. No voices here, telling me what to do. Nothing. None of that nonsense, that mind-reducing crap. I can think for my self on this coast. I believe they call this the New England area, but that might be a little further up north.

I see people passing by me. They're all dark. Not like L.A., where people were happy with bright clothes. It's cold here. It's cold and dark. There is no sun. The smog covers it. There's hardly even brightly-colored graffiti. I'd love to pass it off as just for this neighborhood, but this feeling, this cold, dark, keep-to-yourself feeling seems to loom over the entire city.

There's nothing I hate more than this feeling. The people don't seem to be assholes unless provoked, which is a good thing. I'm careful not to bump anyone, lest I start a fight. I don't even want to look at anyone. Not that that's a problem. No one seems to be willing to make eye-contact at all anyway so that's taken care of.

The people are so different. They're not warm. They don't acknowledge the fact that there's anyone around them at all. It's disgusting!

I have to take a deep breath. I have to relax and soak it in.

I have to get used to it. I came here for a reason. I've only been here a few hours, I can't completely label it as disgusting just yet. I need to have an incident first.

I miss L.A.


End file.
